More Than Water by Renee Ericson Read Free Book Online

think the meaning of life can be found through a camera lens?”
    I shrug. “It’s possible. Don’t knock it until you try it.”
    “Sounds like peer pressure to me. I’m not falling for that.”
    I smile and look through the camera once again. “I’m totally lost, and I have no idea what you are even talking about. Your big brain went on some kind of tangent.”
    Foster steps closer to my side, and his arm nudges my hip. “The meaning of life.”
    “Deep, Fozzie. Cosmically existential.”
    “Sure, Evelyn,” he says, drawling out my name.
    After taking a few more shots, I change the camera lens to one more suited for close-ups, pick up the camera and stand, and walk closer to the fountain.
    “By the way, I wasn’t trying to have a philosophical conversation about life with you,” Foster says.
    I lock the tripod legs into place. “I’m aware. I was just teasing you.”
    “You do that a lot,” he deadpans.
    I’m fully aware of my constant sarcastic tone, but never has anyone called me out on it so blatantly.
    Foster is doing me a huge favor by coming to this part of town in the middle of the night, and I should be a little more appreciative of his generosity and try not to be so flippant. As my mother would say, I was raised with manners, so there’s no reason not to use them. Even though I hate to admit it, there are occasions when she’s right, and this is one of them.
    “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I didn’t mean to blow you off.”
    “You didn’t.” He smiles in a way that is authentic and somewhat…adorable. “But I am starting to wonder if you can hold a serious conversation.”
    “I can, but it isn’t my usual means of communication.”
    “Why?”
    “A lifetime of rebellion.”
    “Huh?”
    “Never mind.” I bury my head behind the camera. “We can have a serious conversation if you want. What did you have in mind?”
    Foster stands silent at my side as I snap a few photographs. When the frame is exhausted, I gather my equipment and meander to the opposite end of the platform with my faithful guard at my side—still quiet.
    I drop my camera bag at the new location.
    “Before,” Foster says, “I was asking about your project and all these images that you’re taking.”
    “What about them?” I ask, quickly setting up.
    “What’s your project about?”
    “It’s a study of water.”
    “Water,” he muses. “I guess that’s pretty obvious. Are you doing all the classical elements? Earth, wind, and fire, too? Not the band, of course.”
    “No.” I laugh, ducking behind the camera. “Why would you think that?”
    “It’s logical. They all go together, chemically speaking, balancing each other out, and humans are dependent on all of them to co exist with one another.”
    “For humans and the earth maybe, but this isn’t a science project. It’s art. Plus, I’m not exploring that kind of story with this series.”
    “There’s a story, too? These are pictures, right?”
    “That’s usually what you take with a camera.”
    “You’re teasing me again, Evelyn.”
    “But it’s so easy, Fozzie,” I singsong. “Besides, you’re thinking too hard. You’re going to hurt that big brain of yours.”
    “I doubt that,” he counters. “And it’s not that big.”
    “Right.” I laugh. “Keep telling yourself that, Mr. I Hold Every Academic Chemistry Award Known to Man.”
    “Somebody needs to. Why not me?”
    He pauses, and I take another shot.
    “Explain to me what you mean, so I don’t give myself a brain aneurysm.”
    “Okay.” I rise from my bent position.
    The soft glow from the fountain illuminates his windblown warm-brown hair. The excessive moisture in the air has caused the ends to curl across his brow, framing his midnight-blue eyes.
    “Each image is supposed to tell a story, and I’m using water to convey mine.”
    “Water?” he questions skeptically.
    “Yes. Clear liquid often found in oceans, streams, lakes, and rivers. Sometimes falls from the